It’s widely agreed that the most interesting character in the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey is the homicidal computer HAL 9000, rather than any of the astronauts. I would add that the second-most interesting character in the movie is likewise not among the astronauts, but found in the movie’s opening sequence in prehistoric Africa – the australopithecine Moonwatcher.
A member of a small tribe of kin evolving on a sprawling savanna populated by hominids, large cats, warthogs and the like, he is exactly what his name implies: a watcher of the moon, who stares into the night sky while his clan slumbers.
His big moment comes after the appearance of the inexplicable Monolith, which bestows upon the eager apes the power of thought. And it is Moonwatcher who, happening upon a zebra skeleton, gets the notion that bones can be used as weapons – the first use of a tool by a (proto-) human being.
Here’s the thing: Moonwatcher is still among us, and lives next door.
Modern human brains come in all flavors. It has to be that way, because to survive collectively, we need a range of cognitive skills and viewpoints that no one brain can contain. It takes many different brains thinking in different ways, adding different perspectives, to keep the tribe alive in a dangerous and ever-changing landscape. And those differences, forged in our genes in Moonwatcher’s time, persist today.
All the styles of thought we see around us today have analogs in prehistory. And those styles, while complex, show interesting and essential distinction in a particular domain: what we pay attention to.
There are those who stare into the fire. They are drawn to its warmth, its light, its ability to keep predators away. The fire, to them, is safety. And, by way of cooked meat, sustenance. Their minds are uneasy, and the fire calms them.
There are those who stare at the horizon. They are drawn to the mysteries over the hill, which they know will include fresh water, game, and challenge. Their minds are restless, and the horizon satisfies them.
And there are those who, like Moonwatcher, stare into the night sky. The fire does not satisfy; the horizon does not intrigue. Their minds have no use for either the familiar or the novel; they are drawn to wonder. And they are able to read the stars, and know what will happen next on the earth, by way of the changing of the seasons.
In the here and now, the Conventional stares into the fire. This person needs to feel safe and protected, and seeks comfort in the familiar. We tend to call such people conservative, and there are of course many of them. Their attention seldom varies at all.
In the here and now, the Unconventional stares at the horizon. Novelty-seekers, they cannot help but pursue the new and different, to the detriment of their social circumstances. They are engines of discovery at life’s edges, but cannot fit in among others. Such people are tagged with the letters ADD, and they are relatively few. Their attention is not their own.
In the here and now, the Normal – a vast majority – stand between the Conventionals and Unconventionals. They sometimes stare at the fire, enjoying its comfort, and sometimes stare at the horizon, enjoying its excitement. Their attention is balanced between the two.
Beyond the Unconventional are the Creatives – those who not only seek novelty, but invest their best efforts into birthing it. Their attention is given up to art, to music, to writing. They do not control it; it controls them.
And finally there is Moonwatcher, whose mind goes beyond novelty to mystery. The farther from the fire they go, the less connected to the tribe they become. But while such distance brings pain to the Unconventional and the Creative, it is of no consequence to Moonwatcher: the night sky is enough.
His mind absorbs wonder and turns it into order. Mysteries give way to knowledge. It is here that his attention permanently resides, giving him a satisfaction that the others can never fully share.
In the here and now, the Moonwatchers are masters of abstraction: they look out at distant worlds and create new ones in their minds. They are our most gifted theorists, our most brilliant mathematicians. We don’t invite to them to parties, but we worship their books and revere them and occasionally give them the Nobel Prize.
We call such people Autistics.
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